


It Takes a Village

by rokkasen



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokkasen/pseuds/rokkasen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maka knew better than to expect maudlin, schmaltzy gestures, but she had hoped their coupling would be a little more romantic than Soul sitting outside of the bathroom door while she sobbed on the toilet. Also, weddings are garbage. [SoMa]</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Takes a Village

**Author's Note:**

> This could potentially be the sequel to my other Soul Eater fic, A Sunday Kind of Love, but it can also stand alone. Enjoy!

 

 

* * *

**It Takes a Village**

* * *

 

If Maka ever needed an affirmation, a divine sign if you will, of her dislike of commitment -- or at least the institution of marriage -- it’s the debacle that is Ox and Kim’s engagement party.

She watches as Jackie and Harvar have it out over by the sushi station. What they are arguing about is unimportant, only that this engagement party has evidently triggered something terrible in all of her friends. Black*Star throws a hissy fit in a corner, upset Kim has failed to provide karaoke or permission to start an eating contest. Tsubaki whispers comforting words to him to no apparent avail. Liz sulks because she has failed to attain the phone number of an attractive waiter, mostly because Kid, perhaps unwisely choosing to eschew his Shinigami-sama duties in favor of this party, glares from a distance.

Kim bursts into tears as Jackie attempts to light a nonplussed Harvar on fire.

It’s all very dramatic and kind of ridiculous, Maka thinks, so much so that she isn’t even going to bother intervening.

“Did you know there’s an open bar?” Maka says lightly to her date, who has no doubt been done with this party and their friends for about, oh say ten years give or take. “I’m three glasses in and nothing hurts."

Soul chuckles and Maka immediately feels warm. Her eyes rake over his body, completely and unabashedly objectifying him in his fitted black suit. He cleans up so nicely. Maka wants to get her visual fill before he's back to his usual jeans and t-shirts. “Slow down. The last time you took advantage of an open bar, you snuck into a Star Trek themed Bar Mitzvah and terrorized all of the junior high schoolers. How can your dancing be even worse when you’re drunk? It must be one of the world’s greatest mysteries.”

“My Electric Slide is legendary, you hater. I was the highlight of Joel Goldstein’s journey into manhood.” Maka puts her hand on Soul’s knee under the table. His hand immediately covers hers. She is feeling adventurous, mostly because all of their friends are currently entangled in drama (“THE DOVE ICE SCULPTURE IS UNEVEN! YOU DID IT ON PURPOSE!” Kid shrieks at Liz, who screams back, “DO I LOOK LIKE A SCULPTOR TO YOU, WE LIVE IN A DESERT AND IT’S THE MIDDLE OF SUMMER, YOU PSYCHO!”) and no one is paying any attention. “Want to go find a utility closet and make out?”

“Are you going through a rebellious phase?” Soul suddenly places his other hand flat on her head and pushes it down as a soup spoon flies past them and clatters against the wall.  “Jesus, can’t take these guys anywhere.”

“ _Now_ you understand why I think weddings are garbage,” Maka says triumphantly, her voice muffled from under the table.

Soul snorts and pulls her back up when the coast is clear. He brushes some dust off the back of her dress. “No, _you_ think weddings are garbage because you have commitment issues, not because our friends are fucking nuts.”

“I do _not_ have commitment issues, Soul! How can you even say that?!”

“You can’t even get through an entire season of a television show, that’s how scared you are to commit.”

She jabs a shaky, pointed finger into his chest. “I’ve committed to you for ten years!”

He knocks her finger away easily. “Yeah, but for the first five you let me carry on a one sided relationship with you because you,” Soul makes obnoxious air quotation marks with his fingers,”’had no idea we were dating.’”

“Auuugh, how long are you going to hold that against me?” Maka groans. Forever, probably. For someone always trying to come off as aloof and sarcastic, he is surprisingly sensitive. Soul _still_ wouldn’t shut up about that one time, like, a hundred years ago, that she got drunk and made out with Black*Star at a party. Grudges are so uncool. “How was I supposed to know we were in a relationship? You never told me! No one ever told me that!”

“What other guy ‘friends’ would talk you through, and then force you to go to the doctor, during the ‘Why Does-It-Burn-When-Maka-Pees Scare of 2009’?”

Who would have thought _that_ would be the turning point in their relationship? Maka knew better than to expect maudlin, schmaltzy gestures, but she had hoped their coupling would be a little more romantic than Soul sitting outside of the bathroom door while she sobbed on the toilet. “You had me convinced that I had ‘pee cancer’ and that I was going to die if I didn’t get to the doctor. Honestly, I think you did more harm than good.”

Soul rubs the bridge of his nose. He looks amused but Maka wonders if deep down he’s annoyed by her lack of emotional depth. In her defense, this is what he got for falling in love with a girl from a broken family and an airport’s worth of baggage. “Why are we even arguing over this?”

“Because. _Because_ ,” She has no idea either. Probably because everything Soul says about her is completely and one hundred percent fact and it hurts, just a little. “Just because. You started it.”

“Very mature.” The lights flicker, a sign that Harvar is losing his seemingly never ending patience with Jackie. Kim wails something incoherent. Maka would have more sympathy if Kim wasn't planning to make her wear the world's ugliest bridesmaid's dress, butt bow and all. Real friends don't make friends wear sequins. "Let's get the hell out of here?"

"Yes, please." Soul helps her with her coat and she sits on the back of his motorcycle. Maka rests her face against his shoulder as he revs the engine.  “Soul.”

“Yeah?”

“... sorry I couldn’t finish a season of _The Walking Dead_.”

“Forget it. You’ve seen one zombie show, you’ve seen them all.”

He looks back at her and plunks a helmet over her head. It’s great, Maka thinks, because like this she can’t see his disappointment.

* * *

 Maka makes it all of five steps into their apartment building before she corners Soul and kisses him.

"Sober?" He runs his fingers through her hair and she really wishes there was less talking and more kissing. His mouth is wasted on words.

She pulls at his tie. They are in their staircase pawing at each other like teenagers and despite a commitment to proprietary, Maka is okay with that. Maka decides that while she might have disliked engagement parties, she definitely doesn’t dislike her weapon in a suit. "Stone cold sober. Ask me anything."

"What color are your panties?"

Maka squeaks and smacks his stomach lightly. Soul knows how much she dislikes the word _panties_ , that ass. "You're a terrible person and you should be ashamed of yourself."

"'You started it'," he mocks, tugging the locks of her hair gently, tilting her head up.  "Doesn't matter. I know they're either Virginal White or Old Lady Beige."

"Oh, screw you," she mutters. "They're _nude_ for your information."

Sharp teeth meet the tender skin of her neck and Maka’s gasp echos in the staircase. "Apartment," she chokes out and Soul is ten steps ahead of her. He picks her up and runs up the stairs, long legs skipping three at a time. "Put me down, you idiot! The neighbors are going to talk."

"So? Let's give the whole neighborhood something to talk about."

Maka giggles as Soul struggles with simultaneously holding her and opening the door. He finally puts her down and she laces her fingers through the belt loops of his pants. Soul swears and drops the keys twice before successfully getting them inside.

"Let's stop going to parties," Soul pushes her dress off her shoulders, forgoing the zipper entirely. The heated way he looks at her literally makes her go weak at the knees. "Let's just stop leaving the house."

"Mmm, yes. Tell me more. Talk antisocial to me."

"We could become hermits." His talented hands make quick work of her bra. Soul tosses it over his shoulder and it lands on their livingroom lamp. "Run away to the mountains, never to be heard from again."

Maka plucks at his tie. Soul takes the not so subtle hint and slides it off along with his suit jacket. The sound of it softly falling to the floor does something to her stomach and she thinks she might actually die if he doesn't touch her. “You’re so full of it, Soul. You’d miss your husband Black*Star too much to do that.”

“He can come, too.”

“He most certainly can _not_.”

Soul grunts with concerted effort as he tries to push her dress down her hips. The material strains with resistance. “Damn it, woman. How did you even get this on in the first place?”

She reaches back and bats his hands away. “It’s called a zipper, Soul.”

“Zippers are for quitters. I’m a goddamn Death Scythe.”

“Cut this dress and see what happens,” Maka threatens but wiggles out of the garment. “Spoiler: I’ll Maka Chop you into the next century.”

Threats all but ignored, Soul cradles her face and drops kisses on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, trailing down her jaw and neck. His gentleness makes her heart ache. Soul is so nice, Maka thinks, even though she can be so mean. Clumsy fingers impatiently unbutton his shirt. “Oh shoot,” she watches as one of the buttons flies off and rolls under the couch. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You’re a wild woman,” Soul shoves her towards the bedroom, any sort of _coolness_ completely forgotten in the wake of promises of sexual gratification. She laughs and lets herself get swept away. “Now be quiet while I try to charm my way into your beige granny panties.”

“They’re _nude_!”

Somewhere between the livingroom and their bedroom, Soul makes good on his promise to rid her of her boring underwear and along with it goes the rest of his suit. They fall back on their freshly laundered sheets, Soul swearing under his breath when he trips over a pair of discarded jeans he had haphazardly left on the floor hours earlier. He kisses down the soft valley of her stomach and thighs and cracks the dirtiest "eater" joke that she has ever heard, which earns him a well deserved knee to the chin.

The doorbell rings and Maka freezes.

"Soul."

The doorbell rings again and though Soul is purposefully ignoring it, having someone come to their house at close to midnight sets Maka on edge. No one ever comes over at midnight with good news.

"Soul," Maka says again.

"No," he answers from somewhere between her legs. "I already got my fill of social interaction for the year. They can come back sometime after 2016."

"Someone we know could be dead!"

Soul scowls. Despite his annoyance, he retreats to the edge of the bed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "So what? They'll _still_ be dead tomorrow morning."

"Worst person," Maka vaults off the bed to tear through the pile of clean clothes on her desk. She manages to get on some underwear, pajama pants, a t-shirt, and one of Soul's hoodies before opening the front door. "Coming, coming. Is anything--?"

At her door stands Jackie, face tearstained and body trembling under the strain of trying not to unabashedly sob. "I'm so sorry," she sniffs. "I know it's late..."

Maka immediately puts her arm around her and leads her friend inside. "It's okay. You don't have to apologize." It's off-putting to see Jackie, someone who is so mature and put together, crying on her doorstep. "Is everything… okay?"

Soul finally emerges from the bedroom, his face its usual mask of lazy indifference. Headphones hang around his neck. "Someone better be dead," he says bluntly.

“ _Soul_!”

"I'm sorry," Jackie says again, this time to Soul. They share a knowing look-- Jackie's beautiful face filled with quiet grief, Soul's with understanding-- and Maka feels like a third party listening in on a private phone call.

Soul walks past them to his old bedroom, giving Jackie a brief pat on the shoulder before putting on his headphones and locking the door behind him. Maka rolls her eyes. "Sorry. He's an idiot but at least he'll be listening to music all night. We'll have privacy to talk."

Jackie’s eyes focus on the closed bedroom door. "Soul... he's very considerate of you, isn't he."

"He has his moments," Maka waves her hand carelessly. She leads Jackie to the couch and sits her down. "Do you want to talk about it?" Jackie folds her hands together in her lap so hard her knuckles turn white. Maka quickly backpedals. "We don't have to talk. Can I make you tea?"

"I just -- I don't feel like going back to our apartment."

"Yours and Kim's?" Maka blinks. "Is she being intolerable about the wedding? I'm getting total Bridezilla vibes from her. Did she get angry with you for fighting with Harvar?”

“Aahh… is your meister neglecting you? That’s not good.”

Jackie throws herself down onto Maka’s lap, sobbing in earnest. There is something more here, Maka realizes, though she can’t pinpoint what. It is something bigger than an argument with Harvar or Kim’s self centered attitude.

 _And this_ , Maka thinks as she strokes Jackie’s hair, _is exactly why weddings are garbage_.

* * *

 When Maka wakes, Jackie’s side of the bed is empty. The smell of bacon summons her to the kitchen but Jackie’s soft voice stops her in her tracks.

“You’re so lucky, Soul.”

Soul shovels pancakes, eggs, sausage, and bacon -- the Soul Eater cureall for any and every ailment -- onto her plate. “I know.”

Jackie eats her feelings with a vengeance and Maka hangs back in the bedroom. She sits at her desk and opens the emergency granola bar she keeps in the top drawer.

There’s no place in that conversation for her.

* * *

 Later that night it hits her:

“Soul,” Maka whispers.  “Is Jackie in love with Kim?”

He sighs a deep, long suffering sigh. “Do you think she would be holed up in our spare bedroom if she wasn’t?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh_.”

Maka stares up at the ceiling. Something suspiciously like guilt gnaws at her. “Hey. Do you think it’s common for weapons to fall in love with their meisters?”

Soul rolls over on top of her, crushing her under his weight. Her shrieks of protest are muffled  against his chest. “Reflect on your insensitive words and go to sleep. You have a lecture early tomorrow.”

She grumbles halfheartedly. “You know, _maybe_ if you hadn’t spent our entire adolescence telling me that I had tiny boobs and fat ankles--”

“-- you wouldn’t have let me be in a one-sided relationship for five years?” Soul presses down with his body weight again, grinning when Maka groans and demands he go on a diet. “Just go to sleep and stop worrying. Kim and Jackie’ll work it out.”

He slides down the bed enough to let Maka breathe and rests his face on her stomach. He’s snoring within seconds. She closes her eyes and wills herself to get some rest despite the rising anxiety surrounding her friends and her own relationship.

 _You’re so lucky, Soul,_ Jackie had said wistfully.

Maka opens her eyes. Sleep would not come easy tonight.

* * *

Maka loves having Jackie as a roommate -- she is considerate, neat, and they’ve recently started a smutty romance novel book club -- but she knows something has to give. It’s day three and Jackie’s cellphone rings for the twenty-seventh time before Soul loses his patience. He grabs it off of the coffee table and Jackie leaps up from the couch.

“If you really didn’t want to talk to her, you’d turn your phone off,” he says irritably. “You’re keeping your phone on because you want to know she’s looking for you.”

“Stop it. Give it back,” Jackie grinds out. “Give it back now, please.”

Maka slaps Soul on the back of the head and snatches the cell phone from him when he winces. “Take it down a notch, Soul. Let me handle this.” She flips it open. “Hello, Kim?”

“Maka?” Kim’s voice is a mixture of annoyed and relieved. “Why do you have Jackie’s phone? Is she there? She hasn’t been home in days!”

“I know, she’s been here with me.”

“Good, then tell her to come back --”

Maka smiles. Her mother always said that smiling while you’re on the phone makes you sound more pleasant to the person on the other line. “I’m afraid not, Kim. I’m taking Jackie.”

“ _What_?” three different voices echo back.

“Jackie is strong, dependable, mature, and everything I could ever want in a partner. To be honest, I’m getting a little tired of Soul. He’s already a Death Scythe. We’ve done all we can together.” Maka mouths, _that’s not true_ in Soul’s direction and he gives a shrug. “I think it’s time for me to move on.”

Kim growls on the other end. “Do you know what you’re even saying!?”

“Honestly, Kim. What did you think would happen if you stopped using your weapon? It was really just a matter of time. You can send Jackie’s wedding invitation to my apartment.”

“ _MAKA ALBARN, I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU BETTER_ \--”

Maka ends the call and hands the phone to Jackie. She looks close to catatonic. “How far is your apartment from here, Jackie? About half an hour, right?” Jackie nods. “Kim’ll be here in fifteen.”

“But… how do you know?”

Maka’s answer is immediate: “Because that’s what I would do.”

* * *

Thirteen minutes on the dot, Hurricane Kim blows through.

Obliterating their front door is a little much, Maka thinks, but lately Kim is all about the drama.

Kim wears her anger well; the color rising in her cheeks, the proud tilt of her head, and the furious, blazing look in her eyes is breathtakingly beautiful. The fury emanating from the young witch would make a lesser woman cower, maybe even cry. Maka can almost understand why Jackie would fall in love with her.

She glances at the metal hinges pathetically hanging off of her door. _Almost_.

Maka supposes she deserves the punch in the face, but tasting blood sets her off in a way that surprises everyone, especially herself. She understands, logically, that Kim is not the one she is angry with. But logic is gone and in its place is pure, raw emotion. Stifling guilt and blinding anger make it impossible to separate herself from Kim, Soul from Jackie. Maka is intelligent to a fault but her common sense is often lacking. She can easily get carried away by her own feelings if Soul with his infinite street smarts isn’t there to tether her down.

Maka hits back with all of her might, her fist connecting with Kim’s jaw with a sickening crunch. It feels good, so much so that Maka briefly wonders if she needs intensive therapy to work out _why_ it feels so good to punch another person in the face.

“Don’t get cocky just because you made the last Death Scythe!” Kim grabs Maka by the hair and forces her to look up. Maka coughs and tries not to choke on the blood running down her throat. “You can’t just go around taking other peoples’ weapons because Soul stopped kissing your ass!”

“I’m right here, you know,” Soul says from a safe distance. Jackie looks on in horror, poised to jump between them. Soul holds out an arm to stop her from intervening.

Maka bares bloody teeth. “Maybe I’ll make Jackie into a Death Scythe, too. I’ve got a witch right here just waiting to get wrecked.”

Kim puts all her strength into shoving Maka hard and the other meister flies across the kitchen, smacking her shoulder against a cabinet. She slides to the floor, immobilized by pain. Finally, Jackie and Soul intervene. Soul scoops Maka up from the ground and Jackie runs to Kim’s side. Kim crumples against Jackie and Maka rolls her eyes. _So ridiculously dramatic_.

“I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done,” Kim cries, “but you can’t be serious about partnering with Maka permanently. You can’t be serious about living here. She’s so -- she’s so _boring_ and her fashion sense is _terrible_. Only Soul is lame enough to put up with it!”

“Still here,” Soul says. “I can still hear everything you’re saying.”

“Really?” Maka asks no one in particular. Soul puts a frozen dinner on her shoulder and she winces. “We’re lame? _That’s_ the argument she’s going with?”

“I care about you the most. I’ll fix whatever it is I’ve done wrong. I’ll kill Harvar and hide the body. No one would even miss him. I’ll never let him ask you on another date again.” Soul and Maka share a look. _That_ was what Jackie and Harvar were fighting about? That clinched it -- all of their friends were fucking insane. “ _Anything_ ,” Kim puts her arms around Jackie’s waist and leans her head on the taller girl’s shoulder. Jackie is a goner and they all know it. “Just come home, okay?”

Jackie is greatly loved, Maka thinks, even though it’s not the kind of love she really wants.

Jackie graciously apologizes for her and her meister’s actions and thanks Soul and Maka for their hospitality and the plethora of new romance novels. She makes Kim promise to pay for a new door. Kim grumbles that she is going to make Maka wear the biggest butt bow at her wedding and Maka knows her actions are forgiven because inevitably, they brought Jackie and Kim back together. Maka’s anger dissipates in the wake of their friends’ bittersweet reunion and suddenly she is exhausted, mentally and physically.

“What exactly were you trying to prove with that stupid fight?” Soul asks once Kim and Jackie are gone. “The hell is going on with you?”

Maka shifts uncomfortably and wipes her bleeding nose with the sleeve of her stolen sweatshirt. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on,” Soul scowls. “You’ve been acting weird since the night of the party.” Maka doesn’t meet his gaze but she can feel the displeasure rolling off of him in waves. “You think we’re like Jackie and Kim.” It’s not a question.

“No! No! Where would you even -- how did you --?” Damn. Soul never pulls any punches.

“Watching them made you feel guilty. You felt bad for Jackie but you were really feeling bad for me, right?” Soul’s words are cold and certain and she can’t find it in herself to deny anything. Maka does feel sorry for him. She feels very sorry for Soul for having fallen in love with someone like her who can’t even go to an engagement party without having sixteen different crises. “Is that what our relationship is based on? Pity? Because you’re scared of hurting my feelings?”

Shit. Shit shit shit. He’s taking everything the wrong way. She wants to tell him that of course their relationship isn’t based on pity but she’s just _so very sorry_ for all of the years she let go by without realizing his feelings and hurting him that way Kim had inadvertently hurt Jackie. “No --”

“You hate hurting people more than you hate commitment. For fuck’s sake, you couldn’t even say ‘I love you’ without hurling on my shoes right after.” He laughs and it sounds hollow and vulnerable.

“I was nervous!” Maka argues. “And I was battling a stomach virus! Cut me some slack!”

Soul turns away from her and she knows that she’s lost this argument. Maybe she’s lost him. He stalks towards the spare bedroom and Maka follows him helplessly. “Forget it, I’m going to sleep. I haven’t gotten a full night since this bullshit drama started. Keep the frozen lasagna on your shoulder.”

“Soul, please. Just listen to me. I didn’t _say_ I felt sorry for you!”

“You didn’t have to.”

He slams the door and Maka stares at it for a long time before sliding down the wall.

She made her bed and now she has to lie in it.

* * *

In her hour of need, Maka realizes she has no one to turn to except her father. They sit at a dark, creaky, old bar filled with smoke and lonely people who have nowhere else to be on a Thursday night. Spirit orders whiskey; Maka drinks a Diet Coke.

"Papa," Maka says. She and Soul hadn’t spoke a word to each other in over twenty-four hours. It no longer hurts. Instead, there is an unrelenting, pervasive numbness in her chest. She half expects to come home and find him gone, and the thought is so terrifying that it nearly paralyzes her. "Loving someone is very hard."

Spirit sips his drink. "Yeah, but it's the best damn thing you'll ever do."

“We’re relationship cancer,” Maka says more insistently. “We’re _failures_ at love.”

“Maybe,” her father replies with a smile, “but unlike me, you’re the sort of person who gets stronger with each failure.”

They are both runners, she and her father. They are master escape artists who flee to avoid getting hurt and falling too deep. Her mother and Soul are unfortunate casualties in the War on Feelings and Maka knows it’s time to break the cycle. It’s time to be show courage.

It’s time to stop running.

* * *

Soul can never stay angry with Maka and it certainly doesn’t hurt that she butters him up with the trifecta of his favorite things: jazz records, baked macaroni and cheese, and a skirt so short that it could double for one of Soul’s headbands. She makes sure to flirt heavily and genuinely show that she would probably die without him. _Please don’t mistake my love for pity, you moron. I’m just extremely inept_. They are not Jackie and Kim or anyone else. They are Maka and Soul and they are a tight, cohesive, functioning unit. They belong together.

After dinner, Soul hugs her tightly and drops a kiss to the crown of her head. She whispers that she’s so sorry for the misunderstanding and for vomiting on his favorite sneakers post love confession. He mumbles an apology for jumping to conclusions and reassures her that he didn’t like those sneakers that much, anyway. They make a date to catch up on _The Walking Dead_ and their Cold War is over.

Later she finds her partner, her weapon, her boyfriend, sitting at the keyboard in their livingroom absently plunking out notes. Maka had encouraged his composing and hell, he said, even if everyone else hated his music, at least he had _one_ fan. Maka cautiously approaches him.

"I think," Maka announces, "that prenuptial agreements are good. You're pretty rich and I don't want people to think I'm some sort of gold digger."

"Ah," Soul says noncommittally. A safe answer. Soul is a gold medal Olympian in going with the flow.

"So we're agreed. Good." Maka leaves the room and comes back thirty seconds later. "Did you grow up in a house? I did. I think kids should live in houses."

Soul looks up from his sheet music. "Yeah. Houses are cool. As long as they're not too big."

"I think so, too," Maka says brightly and Soul looks relieved he has given the right answer. "Sorry, I'll let you keep working."

He gets in two more notes before his meister appears before him again. "I know you hate parties and I think lavish weddings are such a waste of money. It’s better to save and invest. My parents eloped -- you know how practical my mom is about those things -- and I think that’s the way to go. We’re only an hour from Vegas, after all.”

Soul finally puts down the papers and holds out his hand for her to take. She does, rather meekly. “Maka. What are we really talking about here? Are we talking about marriage?”

Maka’s face flushes. So much for courage. “I -- I just thought…”

“I want to make sure we’re on the same page because there is absolutely no way I’m going to have a one-sided engagement. That is the lamest thing ever,” Soul concludes. “I thought you weren’t interested in weddings and marriage? I seem to remember a certain someone saying they were, and I quote, ‘garbage’.”

The blush travels down to her neck. “I just thought that if, I don’t know, you’re in a _coma_ or something, we should be something more official than meister and weapon”

“You want to get married so you can be the one to tell the doctors to pull the plug on my life support?” Soul asks dryly. “And they say romance is dead.”

“No!” Maka squeezes her eyes shut. “No. That’s not what I mean.”

Maka knows that she looks like she would rather jump out of their fifth story window instead of having to talk about _feelings_. Soul throws her a bone. “Then what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” She is pouting now. Soul’s lips twitch into the smallest of grins. “You _always_ know what I mean, even before I realize I mean them.” Maka takes his other hand in hers and opens her eyes. “You know it can’t be anyone but you.”

Soul tugs her so that she’s standing between his legs. “Duh. Where else are you going to find a guy as cool and great as me? And seriously, who else is going to put up with your nagging, your commitment-phobia, your weirdo hobbies--”

“Shoujo manga, RPGs, and Settlers of Catan are not weird!”

“-- your tiny boobs, chubby ankles--”

“I hate you _so_ much.”

“-- and the fact that you let Black*Star shove his tongue down your throat that one time,” Soul finishes. When she starts humming the chorus to _Let it Go_ , horribly off-key but the sentiment nonetheless conveyed, he gives her a crooked, shit-eating grin that makes her simultaneously want to kick and kiss him. “We don’t have to get married. I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

Maka bites her lip and looks away from him. She can feel herself getting disgustingly emotional and mushy and all of that junk that she had so desperately tried to stay away from. _Courage from fear,_ she reminds herself. _It’s now or never._ “But I want to marry you.” Her voice is tiny and shaky. “If you want to marry me. I love you. I want us to always be together.”

He looks at her the way the she imagines the men in her smutty romance novels look at their heroines: full of love, devotion, and like he wants to rip her bodice off with his teeth. Maybe later. “Idiot,” Soul pulls her into his lap and nuzzles her throat. “It goes without saying. I’ll follow you anywhere… Oi. Are you crying?”

Maka sniffles and shoves her face into his chest. The relief is instant and she feels like a junkie that finally got their fix. She really is no good without him. “No.”

“Love you, too, you know.”

“Mhmm.”

“... even though you sucked face with Black*Star that one time.”

“ _OH FOR GOD’S SAKE_!”

 


End file.
